


Call a Spade a Spade

by Mithrigil



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Poor Life Choices, Spoilers, scissors, sex comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 22:29:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithrigil/pseuds/Mithrigil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone's favorite Friendly Neighborhood Serial Killer has Byakuya crucified to a wall. Byakuya's not sure if he should be enjoying this more, less, or just enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call a Spade a Spade

**Author's Note:**

> The pairing is your warning. Possibly your enticement. Possibly Togami's. _Definitely_ Syo's.

Byakuya Togami has agreed to a great many dubious ventures in his short life. Gloomy prospects, ramshackle investments, seemingly-hopeless cases begging only for the intervention of a Super High School Level (or higher) intellect and general competence: really, the amount of amusement derived from any pursuit is inversely proportional to the certainty of its outcome.

Which means he really should be enjoying himself right now, because a certain filthy-minded serial killer is about to suck his dick and he has _no idea_ where this is going.

Perhaps he should, though. It’s a scenario he’s rehearsed in his thoughts, in those bored dark moments when he’s obviously looked at too many secret files in a row. He supposes you can’t fault a man for replacing himself as the victim in a series of eroticized crucifixions. It’s a perfectly reasonable sexual urge. Most sexual urges are perfectly reasonable. 

Syo is licking her chops. Her tongue is as red as the scrapes on Byakuya’s wrists from the scissors. So are her eyes.

It was a grave miscalculation to look at them.

“Mm,” she says, making a truly obscene noise with her long wet tongue, “you’re so filthy at heart! If I wouldn’t get caught and executed like a total idiot, I might just kill you.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Byakuya says, with less dignity and disdain than he meant to because her breath is unpredictably hot on his thighs and makes him shudder.

“You know what they say about great minds!” she damn near sings. Her nails bite into his ass as she yanks him forward, hard enough that his shirt tears on the scissors. It might be enough that he could escape. 

She takes him in deep. He’s not sure he wants to escape anymore.

The scissors holding him pinned to the wall are starting to warm up. They’re slick. It could be sweat, could be blood, he can’t tell with no peripheral vision, he really should have chosen contact lenses instead of glasses but glasses have been so suited to his image for so long and god damn it if this is what usually happens in Syo’s, Fukawa’s, whichever’s throat no wonder she never shuts up. She shouldn’t. She should keep doing exactly this--

“Oh, _yeah_ ,” she moans, somehow vaguely intelligible in spite of her slobbering all over his dick, due to Byakuya’s Super High School Level Perceptiveness, “I’m gonna slice right into you like a frog in a pan and see how perfect you are on the inside~”

God _damn._

“I’m getting hot just thinking about it. Bet you want to feel that, don’t you? You want me rubbing my filthy panties all over your shoes, humping your shin like a dog. Don’t worry, you’ll smell so much like me before the end that whoever finds the crime scene won’t have _any_ trouble figuring out who did it.”

“Shut up,” he chokes, “that is the least erotic thing you’ve ever said to me--”

“Then why are you so big and hard, huh?”

She laughs. Why do the vibrations in her throat feel so good?

Stupid question. Stupider answer.

“You wanna get all wet too, do you?” She slurps, traces a long line from the tip of his dick to his perineum and down. Something snips. There are more scissors. Of course there are more scissors. Why wouldn’t there be more scissors. “I’ll just cut _here_ and _here_ and lick it all up, that’ll keep you stiff, won’t it?”

“Forget my previous statement,” he says.

“Oh?”

“ _That_ is now the least erotic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

And he’d say the same thing of her laugh, but her laugh is enveloping his dick. “Hahahaha! Then I’d better step up my game!”

True to form, she does. For certain definitions of _stepping up_ that include _going down_ , anyway. Her tongue writhes, and Byakuya tightens his fists, which scrapes his flesh against the scissors again, which _hurts_ but again that is perfectly reasonable, and the corners of his eyes fog red. Even her laughter is starting to feel good--no, that felt good to begin with, let’s not kid ourselves--and if Byakuya concentrates on the pleasure he can almost tune out all of her senseless insistences that she’s going to vivisect him so she can suck out his come straight from the source.

He feels the distinct impulse to pinch the bridge of his nose, cover his eyes, anything. He can’t, because he’s crucified to the wall.

Why did he agree to this again? Oh right, because it seemed like a good (interesting) idea at the time.

She bites his thigh. He bucks against the wall, cursing, and his glasses dig into his temple. Scissors snick, and it would be undignified to panic but there is nothing wrong whatsoever with checking that she’s not about to cut his dick off.

Cool metal traces his veins, on the underside of his shaft where he can’t see.

Oh god.

“You live a dangerous life, Mister Super High School Level Heir,” she trills, nuzzling his thigh. Her glasses are askew. It might be enticing, rewarding, even hot on anyone else. It might be now, on her. She’s blushing. Shit. “I wonder if anyone’s gonna be heir to the heir.”

“You wouldn’t.” She would.

“I would,” she says, completely unnecessarily, “and I’d fuck myself with it and you wouldn’t feel a thing! Except pain, maybe. Or you’d pass out from the shock and the blood loss. Either way, not much of anything! And then you’d be dead unless I sewed you back up. Oops, guess we’re in your room, not mine, you don’t have a sewing kit! I’d have to hammer it shut instead. Or cauterize it. Ooh, the possibilities~”

“Shut up,” he says. That was not a whimper. That was decidedly not a whimper.

She grins, with twice as much teeth and three times as much tongue as she should, as anyone should. “Make me.”

Byakuya Togami will never say _I can’t_.

That same sharp coolness keeps swirling around his veins and it’s slicker than it was, and Byakuya seriously regrets not spending that billion yen on advancing the lasic vision correction industry so that it could accommodate teenagers, among other things. Other, more present things. Like insinuating that she could do this to him. Like exposing Syo in the first place. Like studying her cases as thoroughly as he did because this is _right out of them_ and he’s always wanted to know what she said to her marks before she did them in and this has all been extremely ill-advised.

The parts of him that are currently red and throbbing would have it no other way.

She laughs. Her tongue enfolds the head of his dick. Something snips, and _tickles_.

“Huh,” she says. “You have a Super High School Level Hairy Asshole.”

This would be a perfectly reasonable time to panic.

***


End file.
